


The Arrangement at Old Guard Hall

by okapi



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alpha Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Booker is his Usual Helpful Self, Friends with heat benefits ending, Hurt/Comfort, Joe is Second Gardener, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nicky is Trophy Husband, Omega Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Oral Sex, POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Vaginal Sex, just pining, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29752746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Nicky's rich elderly Alpha husband hires second gardener Joe to see his young handsome Omega husband through his heat. Joe won't lose his heart, will he?
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 143





	1. The arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Nicky stays with his husband at the end, so if you are a firm OTP Joe/Nicky end-up-together kind of reader, this isn't the fic for you. Nicky and Joe will end up friends with heat benefits in this. No happy ending. Just pining. That's the kind of fic I wanted to write. If it's not the kind of fic you want to read, that's fine, there are a lot of great Joe/Nicky fics on the archive.
> 
> A plot bunny that wouldn't let go. Inspired by a prompt on the kinkmeme.

“Mister al-Kaysani, I requested this interview discuss a matter related to this.”

The distinguished-looking, silver-haired Alpha in the wheelchair flipped open a file which lay on the walnut desk between them, and Joe’s twisted gut dropped to his muddy boots.

_Shit!_

Joe’s first thought was how quickly someone could go from pruning roses to being buried beneath them. He was certain that was his fate because someone as wealthy and powerful Jason Rafael, the so-called ‘last of the old-school tycoons,’ would surely not tolerate anyone, much less a second gardener like Joe, drawing a picture of his young, handsome Omega husband, especially as the subject was seated _al fresco_ , shirtless, eyes closed, legs crossed in a lotus pose of contemplative meditation.

Joe’s second thought was to wonder how on earth the drawing had travelled from his own sketchbook in the Gardener’s Cottage to the desk in the old-leather-and-polished-mahogany study of the owner of Old Guard Hall. The answer came to Joe at once, but he didn’t have time to consider Booker’s perfidy or the reasons for it.

He had some groveling to do.

“Sir, I apologize,” said Joe quickly. “Sometimes I draw in the early hours before work begins. One morning, last week, by accident, I came across Mister Di Genova in the South Garden at sunrise. It was an interesting,” Joe purposefully didn’t say ‘beautiful,’ “scene to me as an artist. I did not disturb him. I left before he finished his,” Joe waved a hand at the drawing and added weakly, “prayers. He didn’t know I was there. To my knowledge, he still doesn’t.”

Joe’d had a grand total of three short, polite conversations with his employer’s husband. Nicolò Di Genova was handsome, that much Joe could see for himself, but Joe didn’t know much about him beyond the gossip. He was Italian. He was quiet. He was cold. He was arrogant. Maybe. He’d married for money. Probably. But they also said he was devoted to his husband, and any time he wasn’t spending tending to the needs of his octogenarian Alpha mate, he was found among dusty books and papers in the archives, library, and muniments room. In Joe’s opinion, someone who liked books that much couldn’t be a total villain.

“I’ve made some enquiries about you,” said Jason Rafael, looking thoughtfully at the drawing.

Joe turned his attention his boots, which seemed to be on a mission to transfer as much wet earth from themselves to the rich carpet beneath them. Was he going to be shipped back to Tunis? In a box?

“Have you met Nicky?”

“Just a conversation or two.”

“Conversation?” Jason Rafael’s eyes bore into Joe. “Genuine conversation?”

Joe was flustered. Did this old man think Joe spent his time flirting with his husband? Complete bullshit!

“We both like Neruda,” Joe stammered, truthfully and without thinking.

Jason Rafael nodded.

Fertilizer for the roses, thought Joe despondently. Blood and bone al-Kaysani.

“Please know this, Mister al-Kaysani, I love Nicky, and I will do _anything_ for him.”

Joe had nothing to say to this, so he said nothing. If he had an Omega like _Nicky_ and a fortune, then he knew he’d damn well he wouldn’t think twice about having a second gardener turned into compost.

“I have a highly irregular proposal for you, but I shan’t make it without Nicky present. I’ve asked him to join us.” 

As if on cue, _Nicky_ arrived looking nothing like the figure in Joe’s drawing. First, he wasn’t in dinghy sweatpants. Second, his bare chest was now hidden beneath a white shirt so crisp Joe could almost smell the hot iron and starch. The white shirt accompanied a dark grey suit that, in Joe’s opinion, was worth every penny of the mountain of cash it must’ve cost. Bespoke. It had to be. It fitted its wearer like a glove, broad shoulders, tapered waist, full hips, yes, yes, and _yes_ , and it was worn it very, very well. Also, now, the Omega was also sporting glasses, rectangular ones with dark frames, which suddenly gave Joe hot librarian fantasies he’d never had before. Lastly, the Omega’s expression wasn’t the one that had so intrigued Joe in the South Garden. That one had been determination. This one was anxiety, pure and simple. The complexion was almost the same light grey as the silk tie. The heavy dark circles under the blue-green eyes made Joe feel uncomfortable. The scent, too, was deliciously Omega, but off.

Nervous. Worried. Fretful.

Joe felt instinctively protective. And then he felt absolutely silly because it was dangerously not his business what was worrying this beautiful Omega. And then it was Joe’s turn to be worried because he saw the blue-green eyes light upon the drawing on the desk. The eyes went round as saucers, almost comically bulging from the sockets, and the grey complexion turned a pale, sickly lavender.

“Jason, what is this?” The voice was as soft, but the eyes fluttered from Joe to Jason Rafael like a trapped bird, bloodying its feathers against a cage. The nervous Omega scent curdled to one of abject panic. “I didn’t know. I don’t know. I didn’t—”

Joe could no longer stand it. He jumped to his feet.

Jason Rafael reached for his Omega with one hand and raised his other hand to stop Joe’s apology.

“Nicky, come here, please. Mister al-Kaysani, please, have a seat.”

When his Omega was perched on the arm of his wheelchair, Jason Rafael said gently, “First of all, yes, Mister al-Kaysani did this drawing of you without your knowledge or permission. That shall not be repeated.”

He fixed Joe again with a bayonet-sharp gaze between the eyes, and Joe nodded eagerly.

“But,” and here Joe almost fell off his chair because the last of the old tycoon was smiling, not at his work-of-art Omega but at Joe’s work of art in pencil and watercolor, “I think it’s very well done. It shows a great deal of talent and skill as well as respect for the subject. I think the walls of Old Guard Hall demonstrate I have something of an eye for these things.” 

The words felt like a stay of execution to Joe, and it was a fact that Old Guard Hall was graced by a museum-worthy collection of art. 

“Mister al-Kaysani is an unbonded Alpha.”

Joe’s world tilted. What?! True but what?!

“With your permission, Nicky, I want to put the proposal before him.”

The blue-green eyes rested on Joe for a moment, making Joe wonder how someone so beautiful could look so miserable. 

The reply was soft. Joe didn’t actually hear it. He just read the lips.

“Very well. As you wish.”

Jason Rafael sniffed. It was the kind of sniff intended to get someone’s attention, and it got Joe’s.

“This is an uncomfortable, awkward matter, but I would like to hire you to tend to Nicky during his upcoming heat.”

Eventually Joe rubbed the back of his head to make certain it was still there.

“You want me to fuck your husband?”

Jason Rafael smiled a tight, mirthless smile. “Under very specific, contractually delineated circumstances. Nicky goes into heat every three months. For health reasons, I have not been able to fulfill my duties as a heat partner for a year. Our efforts to deal with the situation have been, at best, unsatisfactory, and during the winter heat, well, I feared for Nicky’s life, and that is something I never, ever wish to experience again.”

His voice trembled at the end, but Joe was nonplussed.

“That’s a lot about you,” he observed. He shifted his gaze pointedly.

The beautiful head was bowed. When it lifted, Joe was struck, as if by a blow by a beautiful man trying not to cry.

Joe’s eyes watered in sympathy. “Is he forcing you to do this?” he whispered quickly.

“ _I am forcing him!_ ”

“Nicky!”

The beautiful head turned.

“You have never disappointed me. You have never failed me. Never. Not once. You are a good Omega and you are a good husband and you are a good person. Unorthodox problems require unorthodox solutions. I cannot bear to see you suffer, and, even more, _I cannot lose you_!” 

Joe tried not to stare, but it had been a long time since he’d seen that much love on anyone’s face. 

“I’m sorry.”

Joe realized a beat too late that the beautiful man was apologizing _to him_.

“No, please, uh…”

Jason Rafael forestalled Joe’s noises. “Is this something you would consider Mister al-Kaysani?”

Joe was an artist. And a starving one. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t consider.

“Yes.”

“Good. Can I move on to terms?”

“Sure.”

“Your compensation.”

Jason Rafael scribbled a figure on a piece of paper and pushed it toward Joe.

Six figures. Joe rubbed the back of his head again. Six figures to fuck someone else’s husband!

“As I mentioned earlier, I have made enquiries. Among other things, Miser al-Kaysani, you are discreet. And loyal.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Joe absentmindedly. He was still thinking about that number on the paper.

“To give recent examples, these incidents related to Mister LeLivre…”

Booker! Who knew that bailing out and covering up for and putting up with Booker’s self-destructive shitfest would eventually lead to a life as a rich gigolo? Not Joe. Not in a thousand years.

When a short litany of Booker’s sins was over, Joe said, “I need a bit more reassurance than this is desired by all parties involved.”

“I consent.”

The voice was soft but audible. The sea behind those blue-green eyes was, for the instant, calm.

“All right,” said Joe. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” said Jason Rafael. “I will draw up the contract myself. Nicky’s heat begins in about seven days and lasts for up to four days. You will have use of the old gamekeeper’s cottage. Your privacy will be vouchsafed by me. You will not discuss this with anyone, Mister al-Kaysani. You are at liberty, of course, to change your mind.” He added, perhaps in response to Joe’s expression of concern, “So is Nicky. Oh, and I want this,” Jason Rafael tapped the drawing, “too.”

“Deal.”

There were firm handshakes all around, and Joe and his muddy boots marched out of the study.

* * *

Five days later, Joe was knocking on the door of the archives.

“Come in. Oh, hello, Mister al-Kaysani.”

Hot librarian. Definitely hot librarian in a dark grey sweater vest and those glasses.

“Um, if we’re going to be doing this, you definitely need to call me ‘Joe.’ My full name is Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani, called al-Tayyib, and if you scream all that in ecstasy every ten seconds, well, you’ll lose your voice by the end of the first hour.”

Joe had been practicing the joke in his head, and it paid off. He got a cute little snort and the tiniest smile in the history of tiny smiles.

“Please call me Nicky.”

Nicky, Nicky, Nicky.

Joe would have no problem calling him ‘Nicky.’

“I was just downstairs signing the contract.”

“Good.”

“I’ve got few questions.”

“Of course. Should we call Jason?”

Joe smiled. “He said you would say that. He told me they were private matters that only you could disclose.”

“That sounds like him.”

“What happened during your last heat?”

Joe watched the broad shoulders as they rose then fell.

“I overdosed.”

“Deliberately? Accidentally?”

“Both. I was trying to avoid the heat. To be unconscious for it, but I’m not very good at drugging myself.” He looked sad, and Joe wanted to take him into his arms there and then.

“Suppressants?”

“I was on very strong suppressants for many, many years, and they had severe and detrimental effects on my biology. Modern suppressants have no effect, and my former ones not only rendered me infertile but also extremely sensitive. My body violently rejects facsimiles of any kind. It might be an immune response or it might be a pheromonal dysfunction.” He sighed wearily. “The doctors can’t seem to decide. Or do anything about it.” 

“Ah. That’s it. No toys and no suppressants, that doesn’t really leave you any option but a stud.”

Nicky pressed his lips together. Joe thought he looked on the point of tears again. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to, you know, get a look at the goods?”

That got his attention.

Nicky blinked owlishly. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” Joe waved a hand up and down his torso and grinned, “I mean, how else will you be certain I’m the stud for you? I’d offer to let you take me out for a test drive, but the contract I just signed says your husband gets my balls on a platter if I do it before your heat starts.”

Nicky huffed. It wasn’t as cute as the snort, but it was better than crying, so Joe would take it.

“When Jason said he made enquiries, he meant he had every part of your life researched. Your prowess as a lover is well regarded, especially in Amsterdam.”

Joe laughed. “Fuck! Really? Remind me to send them a thank you note!”

Nicky curled his lips in a smirk. It was lovely.

“I didn’t fuck the whole city, _Nicky_.”

“I truly don’t care if you did, _Joe_.”

Now that sounded nice. And it sounded like his real voice, too. Not afraid or sad.

“This one is pure curiosity and not relevant so please tell me to fuck off if you want, but how did you meet your husband?”

Nicky tilted his head and looked thoughtful. Finally, he said,

“The brothers were interested in restoring the chapel. They were courting Jason as a potential patron.”

“Brothers?”

“I was studying—”

“To be a monk?!”

Nicky swallowed and nodded.

Joe closed his mouth then blinked. “And, what, he swept you off your feet and out of the abbey?”

“Something like that.”

Joe whistled. And moved on. 

“All right. Last bit. Put your nose right here,” he pointed to the side of his neck, “and get a good whiff and tell me that my scent is okay because you’re going to be breathing nothing but that for three days, and if it makes you vomit or break out in a rash, well, then it’s a non-starter, right?”

“That’s wise. And you should also—”

“I can smell you from here, and, trust me, it’s good.”

Very good.

Joe swallowed a compliment about Nicky’s profile as he closed the distance between them, tilted his head, and leant forward towards Joe’s neck. If they were truly going to do this, and really, the money alone was proof enough that this was simply one of Joe’s more farfetched get-rich-quick dreams, then there would be plenty of time for sweet talk.

“Your scent is acceptable.”

It was the matter-of-fact tone that reassured Joe more than anything.

Nicky moved away and removed his glasses and a handkerchief from his pocket and began to clean the fogged lenses.

“Good,” said Joe and before the hot librarian fantasies could return, he took his leave.


	2. The heat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe sees Nicky through his heat. 
> 
> **Warning:** Nicky has a cunt.

Joe was nervous, so he was early.

In truth, he was waiting to wake up. Or for someone to pinch him. Or for the joke to revealed.

But as he looked through the cupboards of the old gamekeeper’s cottage and saw all his favorite foods, it was finally born home to him that this was real.

It was really happening.

The realization was helped by the ten percent of the total sum that had reached him on the previous day. Joe’s bank account was as stunned as he was. Neither of them had ever seen money like that.

And there was a painting by a Dutch artist who Joe greatly admired on the wall of the main room. Not a print. The real thing. Hidden behind the doors of the cabinet in the room were art supplies, good ones, in their packaging. On the shelves, there were books, some of Joe’s favorites and some he’d wanted to read.

Someone with a lot of money had gone to a lot of trouble to fill the cottage with things Joe liked.

Joe looked down at the small garden bouquet tied with string in his hand and felt a pang. His offering didn’t look like much, and he really wasn’t certain if flowers were even appropriate.

“Hello, Joe.”

Joe jumped and turned. Nicky was standing in the door holding a small suitcase.

“Hi. I’m glad you could make it.” Joe immediately realized how stupid he sounded.

Nicky snorted. “I couldn’t very well miss it, could I?” His tone was polite and only very slightly teasing. He was dressed much as Joe had seen him the other day in the archives. Librarian. Hot Omega librarian in heat. Joe was living the pornographic dream. 

“Do you like it?” Nicky asked, closing the door and moving into the room.

“Yeah!” Joe turned and looked at the painting, then twisted and gestured to the kitchen. “All of it is amazing! Someone found all my favorite things.”

“I’m so glad. I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

“Did _you_ do this?”

Nicky gave a slight tilt of the head. Then he blushed prettily. “Jason’s research was very thorough, meaning, of course a total invasion of your privacy. I merely took advantage of it. You’re welcome to take any of it with you afterwards, except that.” He nodded at the painting.

“Yeah, I can see. Your husband would be upset.”

“I am more worried about the wrath of Nile, frankly.”

“Nile Freeman?”

“Yes, she brought that particular work to Jason’s attention and oversaw the negotiations for its purchase. She is a knowledgeable art historian as well as a ruthlessly efficient estate manager.”

“Really? I didn’t know she liked art. I love her because she’s the bane of Booker’s existence.”

Nicky smiled. Then he shifted nervously.

“Oh, these are for you,” said Joe, producing the bouquet from behind his back.

“Thank you!” Nicky’s eyes lit as he took the flowers. “Daffodils for regard. Sweet basil for good wishes. Or for Genoa. And,” he went a little pink, “sweet peas for, uh, delicate pleasures.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to know all that,” admitted Joe. “Booker’s got this very old book on the language of flowers in the Gardner’s Cottage.”

“Oh, is that where it went?”

Joe laughed. “Of course, he stole it from the Hall. Well done, Book.”

“Regardless, they’re lovely. Thank you. I’ll put them in water, and then I should probably wash and get ready.”

“Oh, yeah.” Joe breathed in the sweet scent of ripening Omega. “I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.”

* * *

Nicky’s scent preceded him. It was Omega on the cusp of heat tinged with a yellow distress. He appeared in the doorway of the bedroom with hair damp and his body cocooned in a very short silk robe the color of his eyes. 

Joe was down to a T-shirt and jeans, and he launched at once into the speech he’d rehearsed.

“Before we start, anything you don’t want to happen won’t happen. Also, your husband loves you very much. If it helps ease things, you could think of my body as an extension of his. I don’t mind. In fact, that’s what I’m telling myself. I’m not into infidelity any more than you are—and you can ask Amsterdam.”

That got a smile. Good.

“How are you so wise in these matters? It’s such a bizarre situation, I feel adrift.”

“I am just like you. Confused. Overwhelmed. Out of my depth. But, even in the dark, I follow my instincts. What told you to fill this place with all my favorite things? You didn’t have to do that. Instincts, right? Yours are good, too. We just need to trust ourselves.”

Nicky nodded and shifted anxiously. “And my instincts at this moment, Joe…”

“Yeah, yeah, so you want a look at the goods now?” He winked.

Nicky blushed and bit his lip “Yes.”

Joe blew him an air kiss and pulled off his shirt and was rewarded with a definite widening of those blue-green eyes. Then Joe slowly unfastened his jeans and pulled the sides apart and pushed them down. The air was thick enough with heat pheromones for Joe to be at full mast.

“OH!”

In two steps, Joe was there, catching Nicky before he crumpled to the floor.

Joe was insanely flattered. He’d got some compliments on his cock, but until now, nobody had ever _swooned_ at the sight of it.

Nicky was panting against his neck, feeling deliciously pliant in Joe’s arms. There was a lot Joe could’ve done, but he felt the urgency of the moment.

“C’mon, let’s get this cock where it belongs.” 

Joe eased Nicky on his back on the bed. Then he stood up and ungracefully wriggled out of his jeans.

“I’m going to touch you first,” he said.

“Please.”

Joe slipped his hand under the hem of the robe. “Nice and wet,” he observed as he gently caressed Nicky’s damp thighs in circles that moved closer and closer to his cunt.

At the first touch of Joe’s fingers inside him, Nicky moaned and raised and spread his knees. The top half of him was still wrapped in silk but the bottom half of the robe bunched at his waist, revealing an erect, leaking cock, a pair of wrinkled balls, and a gushing, swollen cunt nested in brown wiry hair.

Joe wanted to bury his face between Nicky’s legs and lick and suck with abandon, but he knew it was more important to take the edge off first.

“I’m only asking if you’re ready out of politeness, not stupidity. Ready?”

“Yes, yes.”

Joe’s cock slid easily into Nicky, not quickly, but without pause, until it was fully sheathed.

“OH!”

Joe would not have thought Nicky capable of making so deep and hollow a groan. It was loud and long and ended in choked sighs of what could only be relief.

_He’s needed a cock like yours for a year, at least. And now he’s got it,_ thought Joe.

Joe began to thrust at once, and as he did so, he spat on his palm and curled it around Nicky’s cock and pumped.

Nicky’s cock was only small by Alpha standards, and it felt good in Joe’s hand. Joe slid his fist up and down, from base to head, in a steady rhythm that matched that of his thrusting. Nicky’s body responded at once. His hips rolled, matching Joe’s movements.

As Joe bottomed out once more, Nicky gave another long sigh of relief.

Joe was relieved, too. He hadn’t been entirely sure that Nicky’s Omega would, when it came down to it, allow an Alpha that wasn’t his own to even touch him during a heat. He was probably just too desperate to protest, but Joe didn’t really care. Nicky was obviously getting pleasure out of this, so was Joe. 

Nicky’s eyelashes fluttered and he brought his chin to his chest and watched Joe’s hand speed up.

“You don’t have to—” he began hoarsely.

“Maybe, but what would Amsterdam say?”

The air crackled with laughter and a full wide smile split Nicky’s face in half. He dropped his head to the bed and arched his back and laughed and came.

And Joe thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen—until a moment later when he had the privilege of watching Nicky’s face contort into a mask of pure bliss as Joe spent load after load inside him. 

Nothing artificial, synthetic, or facsimile about that. Just skin and spunk, and it looked like the Omega was loving it.

* * *

Nicky’s eyes were closed, but his lips still bore the trace of a smile.

Joe had cleaned them. He wasn’t certain if he should take Nicky in his arms or not, so he lay quietly beside him, waiting.

Nicky finally cracked one eye and said, “I must write Amsterdam a thank-you note.”

Joe grinned.

Nicky rolled towards him and opened both eyes. “I’m not broken.”

Joe shook his head.

“Thank you.”

“The heat’s just begun. Don’t thank me yet.”

“If I start thanking you, I’m afraid I won’t stop. So, I will do it once now, and once at the end,” he took Joe’s hand in his and twined their fingers together, “when you’ve seen me through this as I trust that you will.”

Trust.

Joe wanted to be worthy of that trust.

“Do you kiss, Joe?”

“You know I asked your husband about that.”

“And what did he say?”

“That it was your decision.”

“I’d like to kiss you.”

Joe could only nod.

* * *

They were still kissing, lips barely touching and with much straining and reaching, when Joe rolled Nicky back into their original positions and slipped his cock back into Nicky’s cunt. And they were still kissing, most improbably, when Joe came. 

Joe finally broke the kiss to clean them and toss the damp cloth in the basket in the corner.

“Your lips.”

Joe made a gesture to indicate how bee-stung and bruised they were.

“Yours, too.” 

By now, the air was thick with sex. Joe’s nostrils flared. He stood by the bed, looming a little over Nicky.

Nicky’s eyes raked up and down Joe’s body.

Joe raised one eyebrow. _Like what you see?_

Nicky blushed and looked away shyly. Then he glanced back at Joe more emboldened as his fingers went to the sash of his robe. He pulled one end of the silk belt slowly, then stopped and looked away.

“Would you?” he whispered coquettishly, extending his hand toward Joe with the end of the sash between his fingers.

Not wanting any missteps, Joe replied gently but firmly, “Say it all, Nicky, everything you want.”

“Would you undress me, Joe?”

“I would love to do that for you, Nicky.”

Joe crawled onto the bed and made short work of the sash. He pushed the sides of robe apart slowly and ran appreciative hands over Nicky’s torso, noting the shivers when he brushed Nicky’s nipples and, which made Joe even hotter, how dark and pebbled they became with just a few caresses.

His body was so sensitive, so responsive.

“You are very beautiful, Nicolò di Genova.” Joe punctuated the statement with a kiss to Nicky’s belly. When his gaze went back to Nicky’s, he saw a look of genuine surprise.

Joe couldn’t stifle a laugh, which he regretted when Nicky’s brow furrowed.

“Surely your Alpha husband tells you how beautiful you are?”

“He loves me. Love blinds. My nose is too big, my eyes are too big, my skin is too pale, I have a large mole on the side of my face, my hips are those of a mother of ten—”

Joe had to kill this nonsense with a kiss, but he had no time to disavow Nicky of his foolish notions because in a few moments, Joe had no thoughts of anything but filling Nicky again. 

The third fuck was as wonderful as the first two and Joe, upon being granted permission to suck Nicky off, lowered himself down Nicky’s prone body and proceeded to use every trick he knew to bring Nicky to orgasm as quickly as possible. He also made certain Nicky was watching when he swallowed and licked his lips.

“Like that, is it?” teased Nicky who was lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand, elbow bent.

“It can be.”

“Would you tell me about your art, Joe?”

Joe’s eyebrows rose. “What do you want to know?”

“Why you like it. What you like to do. What inspires you. Where you studied. Goals, dreams. Anything you feel comfortable telling me.”

“Why?”

“I’m curious about you. And I like your voice. And I like to listen to artists talk about their craft. The longer the heat goes on, the less able I’ll be to understand and remember what you say.” 

Definitely a dream, thought Joe, but he settled himself on a bank of pillows at the head of the bed beneath with covers with Nicky tucked under his arm, and began to talk of art.

* * *

“I think we’ve had enough missionary position for one heat, don’t you?” said Joe, trying, and failing, to sound unaffected by the slap of skin-on-skin as he pounded Nicky from behind.

They were both kneeling on the bed, facing the wall. Nicky was grasping the iron headboard as tightly as Joe was grasping Nicky’s hips.

Joe came. Then he pulled out and sat back, watching his come dribble out of Nicky’s cunt.

“I would like to put my mouth here,” he said as he traced Nicky’s puffy folds. “Actually, I’d like to put my mouth here.” With his index finger, he drew the perimeter of a wide area that include Nicky’s asshole, balls, cunt, his inner thighs, and the underside of the base of his cock.

Nicky breathed noisily. With some effort, he raised his upper body and looked behind him.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I have a strong desire to worship you, to bury myself between your legs and be uninterred sometime in the next millennium.”

“Are you a poet, too, Joe?”

“A bad one.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I’m a bad poet? How rude!”

Nicky smiled a smile that warmed Joe’s heart. “Yes, you can worship me.”

It turned out that Nicky could come untouched, both from having Joe suckle like a hungry babe on the tiny nerve-rich strip between balls and cunt while one of Joe’s fingers was sunk deep in his ass or from having Joe’s tongue in wriggling fiercely his ass while his fingers caressed the same tender strip incessantly. The discovery of this was an erotic fantasy beyond Joe’s imagining, but it left them both a total sticky, reeking mess.

“Wash. Then rest,” grunted Joe, and Nicky could only weakly mewl his assent.

* * *

“Fuck me, Joe, please.”

Joe didn’t know where he got the physical strength, but as soon as they were clean, he was pressing Nicky’s back against the wall and Nicky’s legs were wrapped around his waist and he was bucking into Nicky with Herculean force while they kissed open-mouthed, Nicky’s tongue more or less making its second home in Joe’s mouth, not that Joe was complaining.

As Joe’s lust pooled hard in his groin, Nicky touched his head to Joe’s and panted hard in Joe’s ear.

Joe loved the sound. He loved all the noises Nicky made. Desperate, needy. Sated, satisfied. Relieved exhales, surprised gasps, intrigued hums, sighs and cries of Joe’s name, the Italian bits where he invoked the blood of the Madonna, all of it. He loved how Nicky looked when he came, when Joe came inside him, in between when they were curled beside each other, talking about places they’d visited and how they liked their tea.

It was the pheromones, Joe told himself, being fond of each other made the relentless fucking easier.

* * *

“Another, Joe, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Joe hadn’t yet pulled out. Nicky was still pinned against the wall, his legs wrapped round Joe’s waist.

Joe stared at Nicky, who looked about as wrecked as Joe felt, then kissed him hard, a brutal, but short press of mouth-on-mouth.

“You are not too much trouble, Nicky.” 

“I’m g-g-glad,” stuttered Nicky as Joe bounced him on his cock. “Oh, oh, don’t stop.”

Joe felt an impossible clench of muscles, a vise grip round his cock. He gritted his teeth, but the release, which arrived the next moment, was like paradise itself, and he came at once.

They slept until morning.

* * *

It was a beautiful thing to fuck Nicky, his face hidden in the bed, his ass propped up on pillows, as the warm sunlight crept across the bedroom rug.

Then Nicky insisted on making a sumptuous breakfast because they were famished and, Joe suspected, more than a little dehydrated.

“Better?” asked Joe when he had drained his second mug of coffee.

“Much,” admitted Nicky. “You?”

“Definitely. We need to take more breaks for nourishment and hydration.

“Yes.” Nicky rose from the table and got a pitcher and filled their glasses with water.

They dutifully drank in silence, exchanging knowing glances, and when the two empty glasses were on the table, Joe pushed a little back from the table and opened his robe and welcomed Nicky into his lap and onto his hard cock.

Joe sucked bruises on Nicky’s neck, then licked and sucked and bit at his nipples. He was about to spit on his hand when Nicky reached into his robe, this one was a longer red silk, and produced a bottle of lubricant from the pocket.

“Thank you,” said Joe, smiling. He kissed Nicky gently, then slicked his hand and wrapped his fingers around Nicky’s cock. Thrusting up as Nicky squeezed round his cock, Joe came, his fingers kneading the flesh of Nicky’s buttocks. 

Joe looked down at their bodies as he stroked Nicky to orgasm and marveled at how well they fit together.

After Nicky had come, Joe ran his hand down the seam where his side met Nicky’s and soon his hand wasn’t alone. Their fingers were twined and moving as one, palms flat, slipping down to Nicky’s thigh and sliding back up, waists, ribs, nipples.

Joe didn’t dare to think anything. No matter how much sex they had, Nicky wasn’t his Omega, and that was that.

* * *

“Joe, I know I can’t take all of you, but I’d really love to suck you.”

Joe was hypnotized by Nicky’s eyelashes. He watched them flutter and longed to touch them, draw them, feel them brush against his skin. Butterfly kisses. 

“I’d love that. Take as much—or as little—as you want.”

Nicky slid to the floor, right there at the table, and Joe opened his legs.

Definitely a dream, Joe thought. A beautiful Omega in nothing but red silk kneeling before him, spreading his lips round his cock, sucking, bobbing, drooling, with his hand wrapped tightly round the lower part of the shaft, squeezing it intermittently.

Then Nicky stopped, and blue-green eyes look up inquiringly at Joe.

_Is it okay?_

Joe really wasn’t certain what to say or not say, there was a field of landmines here that he had to navigate, so he fell back on instinct.

“You’re doing so well, pleasing me so much.” He petted Nicky, brushing the hair back from his forehead and smoothing it. “If you want to keep going, please do, it feels wonderful.” Nicky sucked once a long, wet draw that made Joe groan. “I really, really like that.” Nicky did it again. “Would you like me to come in your mouth?”

Nicky nodded.

“I would love that, Nicky.” 

Nicky closed his eyes and resumed his sucking in earnest, and very soon Joe was emptying the evidence of his lust into Nicky’s mouth.

Nicky sat back and wiped his lips on the sleeve of his robe. “I enjoyed that very much.” The fact that the rawness of Nicky’s voice was due to its distention by Joe’s cock was not lost on Joe.

“Makes two of us,” he managed before he clumsily led Nicky to the bedroom.

* * *

“I want to talk, Joe.”

“Nobody’s stopping you.”

“I love your cock. I love the way it fills me and stretches me. When you come it’s like, oh this is silly, but it feels like being bathed in sprays from a molten fountain. Hot seed dousing me in the deepest, most intimate part of me, and I love it. The way you touch me with your mouth and your fingers and your tongue. I struggle to describe how it feels. Like sunlight. Like warmth. Like fire. You’ve had many lovers. You know these things. I suppose I do, too, but I just forgot. Oh, please, more of that, please.” 

“Nicky, I’ll give you more of anything you want. Like this?” 

“Yes, if you want a bit,” Joe felt Nicky’s sudden warmth, “rougher.”

Oh, this was dangerous.

“I’ll be as rough as you want, sweetheart.”

Joe was biting his tongue at the endearment, he didn’t know what Nicky and his Alpha called each other in private and he didn’t want to know, but Nicky’s nails were clawing at his biceps and Nicky’s teeth were sinking into the slope of his shoulder, and nothing fucking mattered in Joe’s whole fucking world but fucking this gorgeous Omega into the mattress.

* * *

Joe woke knowing something was very wrong. The air was foul with Omega distress and stifled whimpering.

“Nicky?” He reached and his fingers found a clammy, trembling bare shoulder.

“Oh, Joe, please!” sobbed Nicky.

It was still dark, but Joe didn’t need to see to crawl atop Nicky, raise Nicky’s knee, and shove his cock without ceremony into Nicky cunt.

“You’re too wet. How long have you been suffering by yourself? You should’ve woken me up. I’m so sorry.” He rubbed Nicky’s shoulder and nuzzled affectionately at Nicky’s nape. 

“I-I-I didn’t want to disturb y-y-you.”

The fact was Nicky disturbed Joe in ways he did and did not want to think about.

“I give you blanket permission to disturb me, but you had better invest in a cattle prod, I’m a deep sleeper.”

Nicky whimpered. It was no time for jokes.

Joe mumbled ridiculous reassurances until Nicky lifted his ass a little, and Joe ground down on him even harder. “Like that, hm?” Joe murmured, licking the drying sweat from Nicky’s skin.

“Very much.”

Joe’s hand swept round Nicky’s shoulder to Nicky’s armpit.

Nicky sighed a shuddering sigh that Joe felt vicariously.

“Like that, too?” he asked, rubbing his thumb deep into Nicky’s pit.

“Oh, Joe.” Nicky was suddenly writhing beneath Joe and clenching around Joe’s cock.

Joe shifted and angled so he could dig into both of Nicky’s arm pits at once. He didn’t need to thrust much, Nicky was thrashing and milking him, making him come hard and long with very little effort on his part.

Nicky came, too, with a lovely cry of Joe’s name. 

Joe raised up and rubbed Nicky’s back, feeling the junction of their bodies. Then he collapsed atop Nicky and rumbled into Nicky’s ear while his finger and thumb found one of Nicky’s rock-hard nipple and toyed with it.

“Listen, you wriggle and pant and tell me dirty things and I’ll stay half-hard inside you, plugging you. Then we’ll sleep and fuck and sleep and fuck and your sweet, greedy cunt will always be happy and filled, awake and asleep. And I’ll put load after load inside you until your pretty belly swells with it.”

“Oh, yes, Joe, please…”

Joe put his lips to Nicky’s temple and shushed him. “Take a deep breath and let your instincts guide you.”

Joe felt the whole process: Nicky steeling himself, drawing a long breath into his body and letting it out in a steady, controlled stream, then relaxing. Joe heard him lick his lips.

“I want to keep your cock warm all night. I don’t want to doubt for a single moment that there’s an Alpha ready to take care of me—even in my dreamless dreams.” Nicky was undulating in a sort of reptilian way that was driving Joe slowly out of his mind. Any thoughts of going soft—or sleeping—were far away. “I want your body covering me, the weight of you pinning me. Your cock is big. Your balls are heavy and full. Tomorrow, I want to be sore, sore from the strain of milking your cock over and over and sore from holding every drop of you inside me. Is that dirty? It feels clean to me. Pure, clean want. Untainted by guilt or shame.” 

“Nicky.” Joe was coming. This wasn’t a spurt of a fountain. It was the blast of a fucking fire hose.

“Ah! Like that, Joe, like that…”

Nicky was dozing by the time Joe could speak. Joe recognized the contented purr of even respiration and the slackness in Nicky’s muscles, well, all but the ones that refused to release their hold on Joe’s cock.

* * *

“…fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Joe…”

Nicky was talking in his sleep. Joe was, apparently, fucking in his. His hips were thrusting and his body jerking of its own accord.

“…oh…”

Joe was near incoherent, babbling as he came.

“Good Omega. So good. Keeping my cock warm. And hard. Smell so good. Feel so good. Holding me. Under me. Good Omega. So good.”

Nuzzling. Licking. Listening. Kissing.

Then sleeping.

* * *

By sunrise, Joe was in no fit state for calculation. Nevertheless, he thought they’d fucked half a dozen times like that.

“I’m pulling out,” he said softly for the third time. “Okay?”

“Yes, it’s okay.”

The noise was obscene. And loud.

Joe stared at the flood that gushed from between Nicky’s legs which instantly soaked the towels he’d shoved beneath them. After a few moments, Joe reached for Nicky and gently tried to turn him onto his back.

“ARGH!”

Nicky’s scream of pain chilled Joe to the bone, and Joe realized with horror that Nicky was partially stuck to the sheets. He had been sleeping in who knew how many loads of his own dried come.

“Fuck me, fuck me. I didn’t clean you once. Shit, shit!” Joe switched to Arabic for better cursing of himself as he ripped the sheet with his two hands, bundled Nicky up in his arms and hurried to the bathroom.

* * *

“More sips,” said Joe.

“Only if you take some, too,” countered Nicky.

They were on their second liter of water.

“I’m clean, Joe, but the next bath I take I want to share it.” Nicky leaned closer, and puckered his lips and Joe kissed them.

Nicky was in the tub. Joe was squatting beside it. Nicky pulled the plug.

The glug-glug felt like Joe’s heart. He hadn’t been a careful Alpha.

“Why don’t you wash and I’ll deal with the bed and breakfast?” suggested Nicky.

“Nicky…”

“It will make my Omega happy to be domestic.”

“All right.”

* * *

It wasn’t a bad way to spend a morning, thought Joe as he eyed the four volumes of poetry spread out among the remnants of their feast. Talking, reading aloud, agreeing and disagreeing in between bites and sips. Nicky was contentedly bouncing in Joe’s lap, on Joe’s cock, and Joe was, well, he was happy.

He curled his arms around Nicky’s waist and pressed his cheek to Nicky’s chest and held him.

Nicky stilled and wrapped his arms around Joe and rested his head on Joe’s and held him.

And neither of them said anything or moved for a while.

* * *

_The bravest or the stupidest was when Joe whispered in the dark._

_"Let's play the what-if game, Nicky, just for thirty seconds."_

_"We can't."_

_"Why not?"_

_"We would never have met under different circumstances. Ever."_

_"I know I don't spend a whole lot of time in monasteries, but never, ever? Like in all of history? Not even, say, at the sack of Jerusalem in 1099?"_

_"You would've killed me."_

_"You would've killed me! Mostly by distracting me from killing all the rest of you!"_

_"Joe..."_

_"I know. Kiss me."_

* * *

The morning of the fourth day Joe woke and knew it was over.

He opened his eyes, half expecting to be alone, but, no, Nicky was still there. He was only an arm’s length away, but there might as well have been an ocean between them. He was looking at the ceiling, smiling a small, sweet smile of satisfaction.

Then he looked at Joe, and the smile didn’t falter.

Joe thought about the miserable Omega he’d met in Old Guard Hall and the one in the bed next to him and he felt like a god.

“You have every right to feel as smug as you look,” said Nicky quietly.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“As much as I have enjoyed watching you sleep, I am glad you’re awake.”

“Bed head?”

Nicky laughed, and his smile was as warm as the sunlight pouring in the room. “Nicely tousled.”

Was he thinking about the time he’d pulled Joe’s wet hair while Joe fucked him in the bath? Or the way he’d tenderly washed Joe’s hair and beard after he’d ridden Joe’s tongue until he screamed?

Joe knew he had to find a way to stop thinking about those things.

Nicky rolled towards Joe, modestly tucking the white sheet around his body, and Joe tried not to think at all.

They just looked at each other for a while. Then Joe had to go and spoil the moment.

“The contract says we’ve got about—”

“Six hours.”

“How do you want to spend them?”

“Breakfast?”

“I need a wash. Do you want to go first?”

“Um, I would prefer to wash after you’ve left.”

That was a kick to the kidney. Joe could’ve pissed blood.

_He isn’t going back to his Alpha with another Alpha’s stink all over him._

“Right.”

“I need to close up the cottage, too.”

“Sure.”

Time to go.

Joe made to get up.

“Joe?”

“Do me a big favor and don’t say ‘thank you.’ Not right now.”

“Why not?”

Joe leaned back down and touched a corner of his forehead to Nicky’s.

“Because it sounds too much like good-bye,” he whispered.

* * *

Breakfast wasn’t half as awkward as Joe expected. In fact, it wasn’t awkward at all. They talked about books and art and flowers. Joe told a funny story about Booker, and Nicky told a funny story about the ghost of Old Guard Hall. They debated the merits of figs versus apricots. 

Joe helped with some of the clean-up and helped himself to some of the art supplies Nicky had picked out. He felt a stab of something he didn’t want to name much less analyze when he spied Nicky pressing the flowers of his little bouquet into the pages of the complete works of Neruda. Joe pretended he hadn’t seen it, and by the time he was ready to say good-bye, he’d almost convinced himself it’d been a figment of his imagination. 

Almost.

“Now,” said Joe. “Now you can say it.”

“Thank you very much, Joe.”

“You’re very welcome, Nicky.”

Joe gave a nod and walked out the door, leaving his heart behind.


	3. The good-bye.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the heat, Joe has conversations with Jason Rafael and with Nicky. And a _Casablanca_ ending.

“Mister al-Kaysani, you and I appear to be destined to have uncomfortable, awkward conversations.”

Joe nodded and said nothing. What was there to say? Jason Rafael continued.

“My gratitude is as great as my envy. Nicky has not discussed any particulars of your time together with me, but I know my husband well enough to know that you have done both of us a great service. Would you be interested in a permanent contract?”

In the week since the end of Nicky’s heat, Joe had thought about the answer to the question, and he came out with his answer readily enough.

“Yes.”

Yes, Joe wanted to spend time with Nicky. Yes, he wanted to fuck Nicky. And if that made him fistfuls of cash, so much the better. But being close to Nicky and seeing, or imagining he saw, glimpses of him from afar on the grounds or worse, much worse, through a window, and yet not knowing how to approach him, what to say, what not to say, all of that was nothing but torture.

“Good. Nicky’s next heat will be the second week in June. Now, Nicky has remarked that you are a person of unusual sensitivity and no little compassion…”

Joe tried not to think of Nicky’s nipples. Or his kisses. Or what might or might not still be pressed in between the poems of Pablo Neruda.

“…so, if you were in my position, what would you want to occur between now and June?”

Joe pressed his lips together and cocked his head to one side and feigned consideration.

“I’d want the Alpha who fucked my husband under very specific and contractually delineated circumstances to be on the other side of the fucking planet.”

“We understand each other.”

“Perfectly.”

Joe held the Alpha’s gaze. He could tell him to fuck off. He could tell him he wasn’t going anywhere. He could give him back every cent he'd earned from fucking Nicky and march down the hall and make Nicky choose. 

But, no, Joe wouldn’t do that to Nicky. He wasn't that kind of bastard. 

Plus, Joe finally had the funds to give his whole attention to his art without worrying about the rent or where his next meal was coming from. He’d be a fool to waste the opportunity. Nicky would understand that. He would wholeheartedly support it, insist on it, even.

And his husband, the lucky bastard, knew it.

“I’m interested in a course on print-making,” said Joe.

“Excellent! Tell me about it.” 

* * *

Joe put it off for as long as he could, but at last, he was knocking on the door of the archives.

“Come in. Oh! Joe!”

Seeing Nicky’s face light up at his entry into the room, seeing Nicky get to his feet and rush to greet him, did things to Joe, things he did not want to think about. But seeing Nicky again made Joe ridiculously happy, and like a schoolboy, he awkwardly thrust his arm out.

Nicky smiled warmly at the little bundle of pink-and-yellow tulips.

“They are wonderful and will definitely add some color to this place.”

Nicky knew damn well that variegated tulips meant ‘beautiful eyes,’ the beautiful blue-green eyes which were looking at Joe with such sweetness, a sweetness which evaporated when Joe blurted out,

“I’m leaving.”

“Oh.” Nicky took a step back and nodded. All the color drained out of his face at once.

“But I’ll be back in June. For your next heat. If you want me.”

Nicky reached a hand back and planted it on the desk, bracing himself, as his knees gave way a little.

Joe suddenly felt like an ass. “Shit, Nicky. I’m sorry. I should have said that first.” Instinctively, he made to go to Nicky’s side.

Nicky shook his head and waved Joe off. “I’m very glad you’ve agreed to be,” he coughed, “my heat partner.”

“Did you doubt it?”

“Of course, I did. You have the resources to do what you like.”

Joe thought, what I’d _like_ to do his throw you over that desk, fuck you raw, then ink your bare skin with my own verse about what kind of angel you look like when you come, and watch as the words bleed and smear while we fuck again, but no amount of resources, meaning your husband’s money, is going to let me do that until June. So, plan B. Art.

“Where are you going?” asked Nicky, adjusting his glasses in true hot librarian fashion.

“Amsterdam.”

Nicky’s jaw dropped, then he burst out laughing.

Joe laughed, too, and tried to memorize what Nicky looked like when he was doubled over, snorting and snickering and giggling into a bouquet of tulips. “I’m serious! There’s a course on print-making!”

“Oh, really?” Nicky shot Joe a wry look. “By all means, have fun _print-making_!”

“I’m not going to fuck the whole city, _Nicky_.”

“I truly don’t care if you do, _Joe_.” Nicky tried to stop laughing and failed. Finally, he sobered enough to say, “But come back in June, please. And send me a postcard.”

“Postcard?”

“Please.”

Joe hummed as if he were actually thinking of not doing something Nicky asked of him.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll send you a postcard.”

Nicky was smiling, and Joe was smiling, and it was time to go, so Joe said,

“Take of yourself.”

He gave Nicky a wink and turned on the heel of his muddy boot and walked directly out of Old Guard Hall to the car waiting to take him to the airport.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> So my idea is that if there is a next fic, that it's a murder mystery where Jason Rafael dies and either Nicky is framed for his murder or Nicky wants to investigate the death and calls on Joe for help.


End file.
